


The Scenic Route

by somewhereelse



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: AU. On an unexpected train ride, Oliver and Felicity find the journey more enjoyable than the destination.





	The Scenic Route

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a travel snafu during a three-week jaunt through Europe. No, my patience and understanding were not rewarded with Stephen Amell’s doppelganger.
> 
> (I wrote this at the cutest cafe in Reykjavik because I was all waterfall-ed out. Why can’t this be real life?)
> 
> Olicity Hiatus Fic-A-Thon Week 17: Silver Lining

“What do you mean the flight’s canceled?”

Felicity’s working overtime to keep the shrill scream that’s dying to escape her throat at bay. It’s not the fault of this poor customer service rep who probably wishes she can call in sick on days like this. By this, she means days when every flight in western Europe has been delayed or canceled because of _wind_. Yep, that’s right. She, Felicity Smoak, master (mistress? or is that too scandalous sounding?) of technology, has been bested by an invisible force of nature. Granted so have the other tens of thousands of passengers, some of whom are presumably doing more important things than going on vacation, but it’s still the principle of the matter.

She thinks.

They already canceled her initial flight and rebooked her on the earlier one. And anyone who knows her knows how much of a sacrifice it was for her to agree to a seven AM flight. So now she’s awake at 4:30, ready to leave for the airport, only to be told they’re canceling the seven AM flight, with no guarantee of getting her on another one till tomorrow.

Again, it’s not a big deal. She can stay another night here and inform the hotel in Amsterdam of her late arrival. It’s just the principle of the matter. She doesn’t want to stress over logistics when she’s on _vacation_.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, miss.” The representative’s condolences are rote and tired. Probably the hundredth she’s doled out today, and it’s barely five.

“Right,” Felicity says forcefully, as a reminder to herself, “Inconvenience. It’s just an inconvenience. You are on vacation.”

Caitlin appears in the doorway, trying her hardest not to look annoyed. With an apologetic grimace, Felicity settles down. She’s been crashing on Caitlin’s couch for the last week, fully taking advantage of her old college roommate who’s on a research assignment for STARLabs. Caitlin just rolls her eyes and exaggeratedly mouths “ _Take the train_ ” before disappearing back into her bedroom, probably to pass back out.

Caitlin suggested it last night, when her first flight was canceled. Having already done the research, Felicity knows it’ll take five hours, six technically with the time change, and cost more than her plane ticket, but when she decided to go on vacation for a whole month, she did start a contingency fund. Her main hang-up is that it’s an entire morning she could spend doing something else. Then again, she is pretty London-ed out, and five hours to do kind of nothing, to slow down and take stock of her experiences so far, probably isn’t a bad thing. Plus, she can make her ticket for the Anne Frank house tomorrow morning, which she booked months and months ago (like the good Jew she rarely is).

The representative once again offers to rebook her on a flight tomorrow morning, and that settles it. Felicity decides to be impulsive for once, asking the woman to refund this portion of her trip since she’s just going to take the train. It’ll be an adventure.

Right?

 

* * *

 

To her embarrassment, the first leg of the train ride is spent sleeping instead of enjoying the _experience_ of a train ride. It’s not entirely her fault. She had the aisle seat next to a businessman who already had a wealth of materials spread out on the little tray table by the time she took her seat, and she’s been up since 4:30. She woke up with a jolt in Brussels, where she’s changing trains, completely confused as to where she was and confounded by the language over the loudspeaker. Was it French? Dutch? Why didn’t she know what language they spoke in Belgium?

After regaining her bearings, she found her second train and resolved to stay awake this time. She was going to plan her time in Amsterdam and enjoy the scenery from her window seat. That’s what people in movies did on trains—when they weren’t solving murder mysteries.

“Oh, sorry.”

Her seatmate apologizes for bumping her elbow as he folds himself into the row. It isn’t the English that surprises her, but the American accent. After a week in London, that speech pattern is now almost foreign to her so she looks over curiously. Enjoy the scenery indeed. Or at least what she can see of his profile.

Quickly, she averts her gaze back out the window, not wanting to be caught staring. Turning her attention to her tablet, she returns to finding a place for brunch tomorrow, idly scrolling through the search results. Nothing in particular is catching her eye, and maybe she was too reliant on Caitlin to show her around London and is now too apathetic to Google reviews.

“That one’s my favorite.” Felicity snaps her head up, whipping her gaze over to the man. “Sorry,” he colors immediately, “I didn’t mean to snoop. It just caught my eye.”

“It’s okay,” Felicity says, even though she’s kind of weirded out. She’s never been able to train herself to not read so she’s pretty familiar with reading over people’s shoulders, but she’s never actually struck up a conversation over it. Still, she bookmarks the restaurant and sends him a small smile. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

“Sure,” he shoots her a mild smile before focusing on his phone. Looks like she won’t strike up a conversation with a stranger this time either.

But isn’t that why she’s traveling? New places, new people? She’s had plenty of new experiences but new people? No, she’s been too absorbed in her surroundings to even make more than the bare minimum of small talk, not including hanging out with Caitlin. In her entire life, this is probably the least she’s ever spoken in a week. So she braces herself to consciously be a weirdo and opens her mouth.

“And what are you hiding in your lap? I mean on your screen? Fair’s fair after all.”

 

* * *

 

Oliver’s annoyed at best when he boards the train. At least he can still work on the train since all flights in and out of Amsterdam grounded. Does the weather have zero consideration for his travel plans? No, probably not.

But then he sees his seatmate for the two hour journey on a train that’s definitely past its glory days. She’s blonde, cute but not his usual type, and as he’s settling into his seat, she smiles at him so brightly, so easily, that it does something weird to his mood. It’s almost uplifting? How strange.

He’s trying to get a better look at her face, surreptitiously using her tablet screen as a mirror, when she pauses on a search result. The name is immediately familiar to him, and he blurts out the words before he can stop himself.

“That’s one of my favorites.”

He figures people read over strangers’ shoulders all the time, out of habit and curiosity, but he’s never gotten caught doing it, or willfully admitted he was doing it. Her answering smile this time is weaker, more guarded, and Oliver grimaces, preparing himself to let it go. He digs his phone out of his pocket, pulls up the message from his mom about where Thea’s staying, and is surprised when he hears her question. His lips twitch upwards at her accidental innuendo, the way she tries to dig herself out, and he decides to let her off the hook. After all, he just invaded her privacy a moment ago.

Oliver sets his phone down and uses the opening to shift and get a good look at her. Beautiful, he decides, upgrading her from his initial assessment of cute. “It’s, ah, my sister. I’m meeting her in Amsterdam.”

That’s mostly the truth. It’s more like Moira found out when Thea said she’d be sleeping over at Claire Bowen’s for the weekend, she really meant that she, Claire, and eight of their other friends were going to bribe a pilot to fly them to Amsterdam in the Bowen family jet. Which means he, as the dutiful older brother, gets to go chasing after the brat. He loves his sister, he really does, just not when she’s pulling stunts like this.

“Right.”

The woman looks skeptical, like she can tell he’s lying, and that’s... interesting. She’s probably assuming that he’s lying about a girlfriend or someone along those lines, but Oliver’s practically programmed to charm people, beautiful women in particular, into liking him so he persists in the conversation. “First time in Amsterdam?”

His change in topics works because she’s enthusiastic again, that beginnings of that bright smile coming out. “Yep, still trying to figure out a plan. I’ve got nothing but the Anne Frank house in the morning.”

That makes sense with where she was looking. “That restaurant’s a few blocks away, but that just means fewer tourists.”

“I’m guessing it’s not your first time?” Her cheeks immediately redden, and Oliver purses his lips to keep back the smile. “I mean, in Amsterdam,” she hurries to tack on, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears.

“No, it’s been a few years, but I’ve visited a few times.” He leaves it there. With his luck so far, she’d immediately read any implication that his prior visits generally consisted of the type of debauchery that’s illegal back in the States. Even with the lack of detail, she tilts her head at him in question. “Enough to have a favorite restaurant at least.”

Impressively, she manages to instill all her suspicion into a single look, and he chuckles self-consciously. “I may not remember much of those trips, but I do remember good food.” His more honest attempt is met with a slight smile, and he puts it in the win column. “How about you? What do you want to remember?”

She looks genuinely surprised by his question, and Oliver replays it. It was kind of a deep question, wasn’t it? But he finds himself wanting to know the answer. Wanting to know something deeper about this woman who took him apart with nothing but a look.

“I want...” Her forehead scrunches in thought, and he likes that she takes him seriously. “I want something to keep me going. I had kind of a soul-sucking job, but it paid pretty well, and I got to save up for this trip. I finally found a way out, and I’m starting at a new company next month so this is kind of a last hurrah. I hope it goes better than my last gig, but if it doesn’t, I want an experience I can look back on and remember for the tough days.”

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst?” Repeating the platitude that his supervisor overuses, Oliver’s amused when she rolls her eyes but nods along.

“Isn’t it kind of sad? How we live for our memories? So many people have their noses to the grindstone day in and day out, and all they get in return is a long weekend with family over the holidays or a week in Mexico once a year if they’re lucky. Makes you wonder if it’s all worth it. If there isn’t more to life.”

“Wow,” Oliver’s eyes are wide, “That job really screwed you up, huh?”

“I guess,” she agrees with a deprecating laugh, “Work without purpose can be rough. What about you? What are you _really_ going to Amsterdam for?”

Taking a moment, Oliver assesses the situation. She’s curious, not prying really, because he had the nerve to delve into her inner thoughts. She’s just looking for a little reciprocation, and what could it hurt? It’s not as if he’ll ever see her again. “My sister, really. She took off with some friends without telling our mom. Technically, she’s eighteen, but it’s nearly the anniversary of our dad’s death, and she always gets into more trouble than usual around this time of year. So I’m going to try to find her.”

“Oh.” When her mouth drops open, he remembers why he doesn’t talk to people. He hates pity. “Do you want a... shortcut?”

It’s his turn to scrunch his forehead because what? That’s not exactly what he was expecting her to say next. “What do you mean a shortcut?”

“I can ha—” she cuts herself off, biting on her lower lip as she thinks of a way to rephrase her answer. Oliver can fill in the blank. “I’m good with technology. I can ping her phone, see where she is. I’m guessing your mom still pays for her cell phone, so it’s basically like using a phone finder app.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums skeptically, and she flushes at being caught in a legal gray area. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s fine. All I have to do is check her Instagram account, or any of her friends’, and I’ll know way more than I ever wanted to.” He made the mistake of doing that once when Thea was on her high school graduation trip. It took a lot of alcohol to un-remember seeing those photos.

“Kids these days,” she clicks her tongue in reproach, “Zero idea of the consequences of the internet.” He just raises an eyebrow because clearly she knows her way around a computer. “Hey, I use technology—maybe responsibly isn’t the word, but with full understanding of how to protect myself.”

This time he can’t help it. “Talking about sex or Instagam?”

Instead of blushing, she fixes him with a serious look. “Pictures on the world wide web are like herpes. They always come back.”

Oliver pulls a face at the unpleasant analogy, and she laughs, probably thinking it’s just squeamishness. But, no, he has personal experience in that category, with the servers hosting his greatest hits like “Drunk Idiot Pees on a Cop Car” and “That’s a Three Thousand Dollar Camera, You Asshole!”. The internet never forgets. It’s a good reminder that he needs to focus on keeping Thea from learning that the hard way, and not chatting up the woman on the train.

“Right. Anyway. I should do some work.”

Her expression shifts into one of uncertainty, and he realizes too late what it seems like. He’s not ending this conversation because of what she said, but it’s too awkward to explain now. With what he hopes is a reassuring smile, he reaches into the laptop bag at his feet.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, the light catches it just right, and she easily sees the logo embossed on the folio he pulled out.

“Queen Consolidated?” Felicity asks before she can stop herself. Because the very next second, she realizes who he is. She’s seen that attractive profile before, and those blue eyes which are now staring at her warily. Somehow, she’s sitting next to Oliver Queen, QC’s Vice President of Development, on a train from Brussels to Amsterdam of all freaking places. And she just mentioned herpes to him.

Shoot her now.

“Yeah?’ The question is guarded and suspicious.

Felicity has a split second to decide what she wants to do. Lie and pretend that hasn’t recognized him, which isn’t something she’ll be able to keep up and is pretty sure will go over like gangbusters when the truth inevitably reveals itself, or fess up to her revelation. “You’re,” she lowers her voice in case someone’s listening since she has no idea how far his fame—infamy—goes on this continent, “Oliver Queen.”

He sighs, a mixture of frustration and annoyance in that short sound. Poor guy probably thought he was getting away with having a normal, if not accidental innuendo-laden, conversation with the person sitting next to him like any other normal person might do. Felicity quickly tries to diffuse the situation. “No! I don’t mean it like that. In a bad way. Or a scandalous way. Or a negative way. I just—the new job I mentioned? It’s at your company. And, wow, I really mean _your_ company, don’t I?”

Fidgeting uncomfortably, she lets him stare at her as he decides how exactly he’s going to take this odd turn of events. Finally, his eyes lighten, and he releases a low chuckle. “Well, could be worse. QC could have been that soul-sucking job you left.”

“Definitely would have been worse,” she breathes a short sigh of relief, “But, no, very excited for QC. Highest hopes it’ll go well.” His smile is encouraging but placid, and she realizes neither of them have any idea what to say next, and things might be a little less awkward if she at least introduces herself.

“Felicity Smoak.” She jerks her hand up into the small space between them and does her best to ignore the rush when he shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too, Felicity Smoak,” he tries out her name for the first time, and it sends a shiver down her spine. “What department are you in? Will be in?”

“I’ll be the new Director of IT. It’s why I’m on hold for a month. They’re letting Michael Taylor retire on his own terms.”

“Right, right. Mom mentioned they were hiring some genius to revamp the department.”

“Moira Queen mentioned me? Thinks I’m a genius?” she repeats distractedly. If she sounds awestruck, it’s not her fault. Moira Queen is terrifying but _brilliant_ but _terrifying_. Felicity had been taking comfort in the fact that she wouldn’t be reporting directly to the CEO but to the Vice President of Operations instead.

That’s gone out the window.

She’s startled back to reality by Oliver’s hand covering hers. From the look on his face, he’s been trying to get her attention for a bit now. “Hey, that’s a good thing. Mom’s hard to impress. You haven’t even started and you’ve done it.”

“Yeah, it’s just,” she clears her throat self-consciously, “It’s a lot to live up to.”

Oliver’s lips quirk into a self-deprecating grin. “Tell me about it.”

Ah. So that probably explains his years of constant headlines and bad press. If she remembers correctly, the delinquent behavior all came to an abrupt end a few years ago, after Robert Queen’s heart attack and early death. In an attempt to stabilize QC, Moira stepped in as CEO, and Oliver was shoved into a suit and shipped off to the European headquarters in Belgium. Which explains what he’s doing here. And why Thea Queen seems to be heading down the same path of self-destruction. Dead father, furiously working mother, and absentee brother? No wonder they can’t keep track of her.

“I’m sorry.” Felicity tries to keep her tone sympathetic but free of pity, the way she appreciates whenever someone hears about her deadbeat father. By the look on his face, Oliver recognizes the effort. “Now that you mention that, can I give you some unsolicited advice?

 

* * *

 

Oliver’s not really sure what to expect from Felicity next. When his mom mentioned hiring a technological savant, he hadn’t been expecting a beautiful woman, as old-fashioned as they might make him. Not that he doubts her capabilities, she just wasn’t the preconceived image in his mind. He also wasn’t expecting someone so thoughtful, who wanted her work to have meaning. He wants to ask about the company she left, but he figures she’s not going to name names now that they know each other’s identities.

Still, the unsolicited advice is intriguing. “Sure,” he agrees when it’s clear she’s waiting for him.

“Don’t be too hard on your sister when you find her.”

Oliver reels back a little, meeting her eyes in surprise. He’d been expecting something about the state of the company or interoffice connectivity. Stupid buzzwords.

“I don’t have any experience being an eighteen-year-old heiress who can take off for Amsterdam on a whim, but I was a teenager whose dad wasn’t around and whose mom had to work a lot. I don’t have any siblings, and I’m pretty well-suited to being an only child, but it would have been nice just to have someone else around. I’m guessing Thea could have picked anywhere in the world. Cabo or St. Bart’s or wherever. But she went to Amsterdam. In October. A hop, skip, and a jump away from her big brother.”

He’d been so caught up in his worrying, preparing himself to find her drunk and high in the red light district or somewhere—and he still might find her like that—but he hadn’t stopped to wonder why. “You think she wanted to be caught?”

“I think she didn’t know how to say that she missed you and wanted to see you. I think it was easier to act out and make you come to her.” Felicity shrugged lightly, sending him a small smile. “Just something to think about once you’re done yelling.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Thank you.” The sentiment is sincere, and she smiles wider before saying she’ll let him get to work. But work’s the last thing he wants to focus on now.

Ever since his dad’s death, he’s been so preoccupied with making his parents proud. His main concern has been fulfilling his dad’s last wishes for him to eventually takeover QC, and in doing so, easing his mom’s stress in running it now. He’s ashamed to say that, aside from a few family counseling sessions those first few months, probably no one has prioritized Thea. They just expected her to remain the bright, lively, well-behaved child she’d been before without any consideration for the trauma she’d been through—both Dad’s death and the way he and Mom abandoned her for all intents and purposes after.

“Hey.” This time, Felicity’s hand on his breaks him out of his thoughts. He refrains from turning his over and encasing her soft hand entirely in his. “It’ll be okay. Just talk to her.”

Oliver wishes he had the certainty he sees in her eyes, but when she’s looking at him like that, it’s easy to believe that the distance he needs to make up between him and Thea isn’t insurmountable.

 

* * *

 

After two of the most depressing hours of her life, Felicity drags her feet along the slightly uneven cobblestones. It’s nearly lunchtime, and food is probably the only way to cheer herself up after that experience. She double checks her phone and sets off towards the restaurant Oliver recommended.

They had passed the rest of the ride in relative silence, Oliver sharing a few more of his favorite places. When they went their separate ways at the station, Felicity didn’t think she was being presumptuous in thinking there was reluctance on both their parts. Even the token “Hope to work with you in the future” seemed more sincere than usual. Already, she’s wishing she could experience this city with the benefit of Oliver’s experiences. Exploring Amsterdam seems less thrilling without the prospect of his company.

The memory brings a faint smile to her lips, and the woman she’s walking past returns it. Huh. So that does happen in real life. And apparently, so do life-changing conversations with strangers on trains.

It’s been raining on and off since she got here yesterday afternoon, so she quickens her pace before the dark cloud above her can release its watery contents. She reaches the restaurant in a few minutes and peers skeptically through the window when it appears empty. A tall, handsome blonde man—the apparent norm for this country—is looking bored behind the bar. He gives her a friendly wave so she steps over to the door.

After she closes the door behind her, Felicity means to say, “Good morning. Are you open yet?” But the words die on her tongue when she spots a man slumped into a chair facing the door.

Oliver jumps to his feet, looking caught out at her sudden appearance. She nearly drops her phone but fumbles it into her pocket and pushes a smile to her face. “Oliver. What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to see you,” he answers after a slight hesitation. “Would you like to sit?” Oliver gestures nervously to the opposite chair, and with a brighter smile, she settles into it. The bartender brings over menus, but they both set them down on the table without looking.

“Did you find Thea?”

“I did,” he nods with relief, “I put her on plane back home this morning.”

“Oh.” Felicity can’t hide her disappointment. She’s not surprised that their chat didn’t have an impact on how he handled the situation, but it’s still oddly disheartening. “Well, that’s good,” she tries again. His sister is safe and sound, hasn’t met some nefarious end. That’s a good thing.

Oliver must read her expression because he gives her a knowing look. “We had a long talk before she left—after she sobered up—about how she’s doing and what she needs.” So he did take her advice to heart. She can feel her face break out into a smile, and he returns it.

“We agreed that what we both need is for me to be home more. I talked to my mom this morning, too. Really early this morning for her. She wasn’t pleased with me. But if all goes well at the next board meeting, the Starling City office will be getting a new director and a new vice president next month.”

“Oh!”

Her surprise is genuine. Apparently, their chat had more of an effect on him than she initially thought. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy it’s working out. And I guess that means we’ll have a chance to work together, Mr. Queen.” His gaze darkens and drops to her lips after she uses his formal name, and Felicity flushes, immediately reaching for a menu to cover her nerves.

Abruptly, Oliver clears his throat. “I’m looking forward to it. I’m ready to leave Europe in the past. I’ve learned everything I wanted to learn in the Brussels office. But I am hoping to take one thing back with me.”

Felicity shoots him a curious look. “What’s that?”

“A date.”

Well, he shouldn’t have any trouble in that department. Even if he has been living abroad for a few years, he’s still Oliver Queen. Unless he means—

“With me?” Oliver nods, the corners of his mouth lifting at her confusion. “In Starling City?” she tries to clarify. Because that’s weeks from now, and if he needs an out, this is it.

Oliver tilts his head at her, smiling fully now. “Or now.” He gestures to the menu that’s still limply hanging from her fingers.

“Now,” Felicity agrees, returning the smile. “Guess there’s something to trains after all.”


End file.
